“Look!” said he, and he stretched his hand and he put the heap of exquisite glittering pieces up under the eyes of poor Seadhna. Seadhna stretched both his hands, and the fingers of the two hands opened for the gold.
“Gently!” said the black man; “the bargain is not yet made.”
“Let it be a bargain,” said Seadhna.
“Without fail?” said the black man.
“Without fail,” said Seadhna.
“By the virtue of the Holy Things?” (shrines: hence oaths) said the black man.
“By the virtue of the Holy Things!” said Seadhna.
(To be continued.)
A RELIC OF O’CONNELL.
Father Hogan, S.J., sends the original MS. of the poem appended. It is addressed in the form of a letter undated to “Danl. O’Connell, Esqr.,” and sealed, and was doubtless in the great man’s possession. His kinship with O’Connell is evidently no small source of satisfaction and inspiration to the author, of whom, beyond his name, we know nothing. Perhaps some of our readers may have heard or read of him. At the end of the poem is added in English by the same hand that addressed the letter on the outside: “These few verses were composed for the welfare of our undaunted patriot, Danl. O’Connell, Esqr., by John O’Connell.” The poem was probably written not long after the passing of the Emancipation Act. It contains no reference to the Repeal agitation.
ĊUM DOṀNAILL ÓIG FLAIṪEAṀAIL
FÍORUASAIL UÍ ĊONAILL Ó ḊAIRE
ḞIONÁIN.
Fáilte a’s dá ḟiċid tar ṁíltiḃ laoċ
Do ḃláṫ na seaḃac naċ íseal méin,
Cú ċosanta an Ċreidiṁ ar ṗuinte ġéar—
Go mbuaḋaiḋ Mac Muire na ngrás ris!
Flaṫ oirḋeirc curanta cumasaċ cróḋa
Diaḋa carṫanaċ macánta leoṁanta!
Tláṫ le tim gan puimp ’n‑a ṡnóḋ;
Ar ġrádam níor stríoc do ríġ ná ċoróin;
Doṁnall Ó Conaill,
D’ḟíor-sgoṫ na cruinne!
Curaḋ tar Osgar i mbeárnain!
Is géag é do neartaiġ le grása’ an Trír;
Is craoḃ é raṫṁar do Léin-loċ;
Is caor é d’aibiġ d’ḟuil Éiḃir Fhinn,
Ag gearraḋ a naṁad gan ċáirde.
Tá tiobraid d’ḟoclaiḃ diaḋaċt’ i n‑a ċeann,
A ċroiḋe ar lasaḋ, a smuaineaḋ ar ḟeaḃas;
A’ tarrang a ċloiḋiṁ le linn an ġáḃaiḋ—
Na conablaiġe sínte do ḃíd ar lár
Ag Doṁnall Ó Conaill,
Fíor-ḃláṫ na cruinne!
Is clú ḋá ċineaḋ go deo’ é
Ní’l taḋḃaċt i dtréine Ṡaosair ġroiḋe
Do ċuir eagnaiġ Dé sa’ saoġal fá ċíos,
Na Macaibí is leoṁanta, ċlaoiḋiġ
Aintíóc a’s a ṡlóiġte;
Do ḃuaiḋ i ngaisgeaḋ ar Aicileas Gréagaċ;
Féasda suiḋte ag Alastrom éaċtaċ
An ċraoḃ do fuair ó Ṁurċaḋ ṁór;
I ndeallraṁ gníoṁ le Conall MacNéill,
Árd-ḟlaiṫ cumuis,
D’ḟíor-sgoṫ na cruinne,
Is clú ḋá ċineaḋ go deó’ é.
Is tú gráḋ a’s ceannas easbog na Foḋla,
An Pápa, cardanal, ’s Ṗeadair ’san Róiṁ
Gráḋ na hEagailse, sagairt a’s bráiṫre,
Sean-duine, bruinneall, a’s óglaoċ;
Gráḋ ⁊ maise na maiġdean óg
Do ċaiṫeann a mbeaṫa ’s do ṁaireann gan
nóċar,
Go hárd a’ guiḋe ċum Ríġ na ngrás,
A’ tarrang a sliġe ar a’ dtír is fearr,—
Na millte pearsa
Ag guiḋe na n‑aingeal
Do náiṁde leagaḋ gan ċáirde.
Atá báiḋ led’ ṡeasaṁ ag an ḟáiḋ Doṁnall
Ṫáinig slán ó uaill na leoṁan;
Na hapstail do ṡíor ar tí ṫú ṡaoraḋ,
A’s an dá ḟáiḋ ċeannasaċ, Eoin a’s
Seaġán;
Gaċ árd-ḟlaiṫ eile d’ḟuiling an bás
Le gráḋ do Ċríost, a nguiḋe ad’ ṗáirt;
Sin saoire ceapaiġṫe
Ag Ríġ na ḃflaṫeas
Do naíṁde leagaḋ gan ċáirde!
Seaġán Ó Conaill.
